"Go—go!" "I see what you mean," rejoined Blueskin, tossing a large case-knife, which he took from his pocket, in the air, and catching it dexterously by the haft as it fell; "you owe Jonathan a grudge;—so do I. Show him no quarter, Poll. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. ” “Very sad—very sad indeed,” he remarked uneasily. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark.
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